


After Missouri

by Laure001



Category: Homeland
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 05:25:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11074947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laure001/pseuds/Laure001
Summary: Season 4. Quinn waits a few weeks before kissing Carrie after her father's funeral. And because Carrie already went to Missouri, their future turns out very differently...Chapter 5 has been posted!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Thank you so much to the wonderful Ascloseasthis for editing!)

They kissed for the first time three weeks after Carrie came back from a short trip to Missouri. Quinn had showed up at Carrie’s father’s funeral, she had hugged him, and then he had behaved like a perfect gentleman, pouring whiskey, helping Maggie with the dishes. Carrie had walked him to the car, Quinn had politely said goodbye.

Then Carrie left for Missouri (she didn't explain why). She came back two days later, and Quinn began to call her every day. 

_Every fucking day._ He always had an excuse. First he needed her signature on some work documents. Then he was having car problems and he needed her help to "deal with that fucking mechanic or I swear I'm going to tear his head off.” Carrie said yes, she always said yes when Quinn asked, as bizarre as his requests were. Then of course Quinn was the one driving her to the CIA and back, when she had to attend all the dreadful hearings after the embassy attacks; “I have to go there anyway,” was his justification, then he had car problems again, it had been nearly a month since the funeral, Carrie found herself with Quinn in a parking lot behind a tiny car repair shop for some undetermined reason, helping to haul some undetermined motor part. 

The thing was dripping oil, by the way. They put it in the truck, Carrie uttering a string of pretty deserved profanities. “If this is your idea of a date, it sucks,” she grumbled. 

(Without thinking. Really, dear reader. Without thinking, I swear.) 

“Do you want to go?” he answered, busy with something in the trunk – not looking at her.

“Go where?” 

“On a date?"

Carrie stared, frozen with surprise - but somehow, at the same time, not surprised at all. Of course. I mean, she had chased him all over Islamabad, she had stood upon a bomb, she had said “I can't lose you,” then he crossed half of the world and escaped countless dangers to be on time to be with her at her father's funeral... So yes, she _knew_ , but at the same time it was never completely clear, she had never conceptualized it. 

Maybe she thought they would stay in this limbo for years.

Except now…

Quinn had finished whatever he was doing and was now watching her, in a neutral, serious way - giving nothing. But waiting. For her answer. 

“Sure,” she said, after some very long seconds. 

He didn't have any particular reaction, his expression didn’t change, but for a fleeting second Carrie thought that he was just gonna grab her and kiss her here, under the sun, against the door of truck, in the heat, with the metal smell and the noises of the highway, but he didn't. He didn't say anything. Fuck. A joke would have been so necessary right now, in this silence the situation seemed so grave, then Quinn leaned into the trunk to do something again - and - fuck – that silence – then he stood up, grabbed her, and kissed her, right there - against the truck door, under the sun, the hot metal on her back, the smell of oil, the sounds of the highway - his hands all over her, on her neck, in her hair, then it was over and the light was shining so bright.

She could hardly breathe. 

“Quinn, I'm going to fuck it up,” she whispered. 

“No you won't.” He was so sure. Or was he? “You want out, Carrie,” he added, after a while. “I want out. Let’s get out together.”

“Fuck,” she answered, rubbing her forehead. “Fuck. Quinn, I don't know what to say. Some part of me really wants this. Some part of me really thinks…”

She stopped talking. He stared at her for a second, then looked away - she saw the anger, the strain. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m just not sure of… anything, yet.”

“You're just making it worse, Carrie,” he answered. “Fucking worse. If it's a ‘no,’ just tell me right away, don't... play with...” 

Carrie took a step back, anger rising in her too.

“Playing? I am not fucking… you're the one who’s playing, Quinn! If _this_ was on your mind, why didn't you ask earlier? Why did you keep inviting me to... fucking haul fucking motor parts…”

“Because!” he spat. “Because of this.” He was so mad now. “Because I thought... I was afraid you'd react like this.” 

“Like what!?”

“Like everything is so fucking complicated, all the time, Carrie. When it's really very simple. You want me, or you don’t.” 

“It's more complex than...”

“NO it's NOT.” He took a deep breath, fighting rage, again. ”Listen. Rob came to see me... Rob is my colleague, from the group.” Carrie didn’t need to ask what “the group” was. Her eyes went wide. “They were supposed to ship out two weeks ago. I declined. But the mission’s been postponed a month, and now they’re asking again…”

“No. No. Don't go.” 

She had just blurted the words. There was a silence, he was looking at her intensely, he was so... pale. Yes, in the sun, burning metal doors behind them, and he, pale as a sheet. 

“If you are fucking with me here, I swear to God, Carrie...”

“I'm not. Listen… Can we... get out of here? Drink coffee somewhere, where there are, I don't know, seats? Please?”

“Ok,” he said, he took her hand, began to walk briskly towards the rundown coffee shop, behind the gas station, the hand holding didn't feel like a romantic gesture, it felt like Quinn was exasperated with it all, and just wanted to lead her away as fast as possible. They entered, the place was not that bad, with its clean seats and clean counter, they stopped and suddenly they both became very conscious of her hand in his, nervousness began to rise, the waitress waved toward the back of the room, they sat down, their hands still together, on the the table, for a few moments more, before Quinn let go. 

They ordered. 

The waitress came back with their coffees, and suddenly, he took back her hand, on an impulse. They looked at each other, silent, for a while, he, so pale, she, so tense, so moved, so… lost. 

“I know you're less into this than I am,” he finally said, his voice... low. A little hoarse. “But I really think it could work.” 

Carrie was silent for a few seconds. “Can I tell you what happened in Missouri?” she finally said. He frowned, surprised, before nodding, so she told him… everything. About her mother, her brother, what she had learned about her parents’ relationship.

“See, I always thought it was me,” she concluded. “That I was... cursed. But maybe not.”

“So…” he commented, after a moment of reflection. “It's good. Right?”

"Yes,” she said. “Yes. I never thought... A long term relationship could work with me before. But, I'm ready to try.”

He was, still, so pale, when he breathed:

“Try with me.”

 

(To be continued…)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ascloseasthis, who edits faster than light!

“Ok,” Carrie said, after a while. “Let's try.”

He nodded.

There was a silence, he let go of her hand, they drank coffee, ate pancakes (with a side of bacon) that Carrie didn't even remember ordering. Then he stopped eating, his stomach was in knots, hers too, they just stared at each other - it was not a happy moment, they were feeling so awkward. 

“I don't know how to proceed,” she said, forcing a smile. “What do normal people do?”

“Beats me,” Quinn said. “Dinner? Movie?“

“God no. I don't know what I would say to you,” Carrie answered, then she saw the look in his eyes and quickly added : “Not that... It's just, we always talked about work. I don't see us having a normal conversation.”

“We don't always have to talk”. 

She smiled. “Sure.”

He smiled too, relaxing just a little bit. Not much. 

“Yes, of course, Carrie, _that_ too. But it's not what I meant. I meant, being silent, together. In the same room. That's fine too.”

She looked at him for a while, then her smile changed. “This is a weird date.”

“This is a date?” 

“I guess.” 

“I'm not doing a very good job then,” he whispered, they stayed immobile for a while, he took back her hand (again), maybe more to break the tension than anything, but the contact, it did something to her, that sensitive part of their skin, all the nerves, this physical, fragile, acute connection.

And it must have affected him too, because she saw the emotion rising in his eyes. 

She was the first to whisper: “Wanna get out of here?” 

**

The sex was harsh, efficient, fiery. In his apartment. Carrie was still living at Maggie's, her house was rented, there were problems with the renter, he was refusing to leave - dear reader, this will become relevant later - but let’s get back to the sex. 

They just lay there afterwards, sweaty and tired, in an uncomfortable silence. 

“Ok, I've got to get back,” Carrie said. “I have to take care of Franny.” 

“Sure.”

“See? We don't have much to say to each other,” she claimed, with a strained smile, putting her pants back, and yes, she was joking, but not entirely… he heard that edge in her voice and he was up and beside her in a fraction of second - rising so fast, like a panther, that for a moment Carrie was actually scared. She sat back on the bed, he crouched by her and took her hands in his. 

“This is just the beginning,” he said. “Don't give up yet.”

“I don't know, Quinn,” she muttered, vaguely exasperated, without a clear reason. “This is what I was afraid of. That if we'd fucked, we’d sort of kill it, you know? Like right now.” 

He stared at her. Then he stood up.

“Go to Franny,” he ordered, and before she could add something angry, like “I don't need your fucking permission," he continued: “But don't give up now. Give it - give us a month. A week, at least.”

She sighed. 

“Sure.”

“I will come and get you for dinner tonight.”

“No. I can't go tonight, because…”

“Figure it out,” he said harshly. 

She glared, then proceeded to get dressed.

“Well at least the sex was good,” she spat.

“Fuck you, Carrie. Be there at eight.”

**

She was ready at eight. Maggie had put on her martyr face when she learned that Carrie was going out again - leaving her daughter to her, again - so Carrie hired the nanny to stay over - because that technical, efficient sex was going to happen again, right? But it was not what Carrie was curious about. 

Quinn attitude was strange, a mix of desperation and authority. Was it really “desperation”? Or “want,” maybe? “Want” was a more pleasant word, more than pleasant, despite the disaster that had been their interaction post-sex. 

The word “want,” made her feel… well, wanted. 

And being wanted that much was a hot, acute feeling, burning like the car door on her back, when they had kissed.

**

“So, Quinn said, in the restaurant, which was nice, but not too nice, a good choice. “What are you gonna do next, Carrie?” 

“About the CIA, you mean?” 

“Yeah.”

She thought about it for a moment, and see, _this_ silence was not uncomfortable, it was perfectly ok, him waiting patiently for her thoughts to sort themselves out. 

“I don't know. I should leave. I don't believe in it anymore. But… I'm afraid of fucking up my life forever, if I do. After they got me out, the first time, I tried teaching. I'd rather blow my brain out.” 

“Yeah, teaching is for morons,” Quinn commented wryly. “The problem is the passion. The stakes. We get addicted to them.”

“I could go for lower stakes,” Carrie mused, thinking of Fara's body, of all the bodies lying on the floor of the embassy. 

“Not for long.” 

She nodded. 

He continued, after a while: “But there are other ways to save people, to make a difference in the world.”

She shook her head with a smile of disbelief. “Really? Tell me about them.”

She thought he was going to list options, but he didn’t. He just watched her for a moment, ”See, we're doing ok,” he commented with a slow smile - but of course she knew, that he had done it on purpose, driven the conversation toward serious topics to break the ice, so she countered: 

“That's because we’re talking about work. About important issues. That’s when we communicate well.”

“I agree,” he said slowly, with a new, challenging smile, so Carrie smiled back. 

But still. This was better, but it was not... smooth. It was not easy. With Brody, the seduction process had been so natural. Sparkling, perfect. Yes, lies upon lies, but smooth sailing all the same. 

With Quinn it was... Should it be so hard? 

“I wish we could just try real life”, Carrie stated suddenly, without thinking it through. Then she tried to explain, “This dating, it's not for us. You're not good at it. At least not with me.”

She thought he was going to protest, but he didn’t, just kept looking at her in that way he had. She shrugged. “Maybe we could just try brushing our teeth together while the washing machine’s running. See how we do with daily stuff. With not having to... seduce each other.”

“Oh, we’re done with that,” he answered. “At least, you already seduced me.”

She couldn't help to feel it - the rush of pride and warmth - but tried to underplay the sensation at first. “I seduced you? How? By yelling at you and killing people?”

“By… killing yourself slowly trying to do the right thing?” he reflected. “I don’t know. But it worked,” he added, and this time she couldn't help a big, bright smile, he took her hand, not smiling but (but) there it was… smooth sailing. 

Feeling safe. Feeling good. 

“Your idea is brilliant. Let’s do it,” he stated, a few seconds later. 

“What idea?” 

“Brushing our teeth together. Daily interaction. The noisy washing machine. You have no place to live, Carrie. Move in with me for a few weeks. Just enough time to get rid of your renter, or to find another house.”

“Quinn,” Carrie shook her head in disbelief. “I have a one-year-old.” 

“Yeah, I know.”

“I will drive you nuts. Me, and the one-year-old who is going to drive ME nuts.” 

“I’m not asking you to move in for good. You come for three weeks, you find a place, you move out. Except we pass the test and we stay together, hopefully.”

“We're gonna kill each other, Quinn.”

“And have great sex.” 

Carrie laughed, and Quinn added, a little too quickly: “Because you’re right. These first dates, these first moments awkwardness… they're killing us.” He leaned toward her, his eyes deep, and she felt that heat again – sun, sound, metal burning. “But I can see us living together, Carrie. I can visualize it. The same way we work, no bullshit, no chit chat, just... trust. Mutual help. Silence, sometimes. Talking about the important issues, as you said. And… the rest, obviously…” 

The “rest” meant “sex”, she realized. But maybe not only sex. She shook her head.

“God, you really want this.” 

“Yes,” he said, and there was pain, and more, in his eyes. He looked right at her. “I do.” 

 

 

 

 

 

(To be continued!)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Thank you so much to the wonderful Ascloseasthis for editing!)

Living together.

In Quinn’s apartment.

It was strange at first. Not necessarily bad, just strange, kind of awkward. Franny wasn’t with them yet, Maggie had insisted that the place be ready before delivering the little girl, and Carrie hadn’t protested too loudly: truth was, it was a lot - moving her things out of storage, surviving the CIA post-Islamabad witch hunt, navigating her uncertain future, and – obviously, negotiating coexistence with a man.

Not that there was much to negotiate. Quinn was very practical. 

Without telling Carrie, he had moved to a bigger apartment. The place had two more bedrooms, Carrie had one, he had one, Franny would get one. Quinn had also done a lot of shopping: food, baby stuff, toiletries, kitchen material, even cushions. More, much more than would be necessary for a three week stay; it was strange, but the whole arrangement was strange anyway. 

So, yes: life was awkward. The fact that they were alone – without Franny. Carrie had no idea how to act. What do you say to the guy who is in the kitchen with you, when you have a mug of coffee in hand, at 6.30 am? “Good morning?” Wasn’t that extremely artificial – weird – coldly polite, meaningless, really? What do you tell him when you get home in the evening? Quinn had found a great solution to the problem: he didn't say anything. Except when there was something essential to communicate about. 

So… just strange, alien days, of administrative hassles and boxes and trying to understand the purpose of babies hammocks, and then it was Thursday afternoon, and some congressman was yelling at Carrie, accusing her of “borderline treasonous incompetence,” because of the Islamabad disaster. 

Carrie was tough. She had survived the Brody hearings, she knew the congressman wasn’t even acting out of conviction, he was trying to humiliate her, on record, for some nebulous political reason of his own. But he was going on and on, harassing her, listing the names of the dead to get a reaction, it was – monstrous - at her side, even Lockhart was horrified, Lockhart and Carrie generally presented a united front, but now even he was stumped for words. 

The congressman finished flinging dead people’s names in her face, Carrie answered in kind, even threw in a "Fuck you! You weren't there," but her hands were trembling, she felt nauseated, and the only thing that helped was thinking: “Quinn’s here.” Waiting for her, sitting on one of those grey chairs on the other side of the glass panel, maybe even hearing a part of what was going on. 

And yes – when she went out 30 minutes later, he was here. Standing near the entrance, looking worried. The congressman wandered off, Quinn sent him his patented death's glare, then took her hand silently - Lockhart was still around, and one of the lawyers, they saw, Quinn didn’t care, he led Carrie away – they walked, the hall, the elevator, security checks, Carrie had never been more conscious of her hand in his, it had never been that important, that essential, to have someone holding her hand, his palm like a connection to life, earth, everything, they were in the car now, Quinn sitting at the wheel. 

“Assholes,” he said. “Fucking congressmen.”

“Maybe you need a sadistic streak to be part of one of those commissions,” Carrie commented. “It’s part of the screening process.”

“Or maybe only the worst ones volunteer.”

“Exactly.”

Then Quinn went on a rant about how people who hadn’t seen action should just shut up, and how officers in the field should take all the decisions, and fucking politicians should be eliminated, and he didn’t even believe it - this was the man who wanted to quit the CIA after all - and Carrie didn’t believe it either, but that was exactly what she needed to hear, and when Quinn finally stopped she turned to him and kissed him. 

Deep. Long. 

“What was that for?” he asked, when she stopped.

“Nothing,” she said, and he kissed her back, passionately, his hands framing her face, they kept kissing, in the car, for a good while, and for some heavenly minutes Carrie felt so good, so cherished, safe... and horny. So horny, in fact, that she would gladly have – but no, they couldn’t fuck here in the parking lot, and they couldn’t go home right away, because she had another meeting, and when they were back at the apartment at night it went back to uncomfortable silences and feeling out of place.

**

The sex was good, though. No. The sex was great. They had two bedrooms, but Carrie went directly into his at night, he had a very large and very comfortable bed (maybe it was one of the things he bought before she moved in) and they spent hours in it, then they fell asleep in each other’s arms, and generally Carrie stumbled to her bedroom after. She couldn’t stay, not till morning, couldn’t explain why.

Not a bad equilibrium – except everything turned suddenly sour. 

**

Carrie was tired. Depressed, maybe. Or maybe it was Post Traumatic shock, or all of the above, she had asked to delay Franny’s arrival (again) and Maggie had yelled at her, and nothing in her life was good, nothing in her life was beautiful, and that cohabitation with Quinn, it was not… what she had hoped for. Her hopes were difficult to define, his heat, his passion for her to warm her up, but Quinn was like a shadow now, most of the time. 

Maybe he sensed her mood and didn’t want to set her off, maybe he was wary, maybe he was… silently hers, unlooked, unheard, someone who shared the apartment, preparing coffee and buying food she loved and reheating meals and driving her places, and it made her resentful, that all of this didn’t magically make her happy, she was spiraling, so she became – awful, well, _more awful_ maybe, either cold or yelling at him, a week passed and she woke up one night at 3.03 am for no reason. 

She felt antsy and worried. She jumped out of bed, thinking that maybe he was gone, feeling sick. He was not in his room. She found him at the kitchen table, in the dark, an opened bottle of whisky in front of him.

She sat down on the other chair.

Silence. 

“This is not working,” she was thinking, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it, because if she did, he would have to leave, or she would have to leave, and then – life without him was a dark pit.

“I don’t need much, Carrie,” he said, after a while. His voice was so strained. “But I do need something.”

“This is not working,” she blurted – and regretted it instantly.

“THEN GET THE FUCK OUT THERE NOW,” he yelled, looking right at her – his eyes so bright – she went to her room, took a coat, her bag, and in a second, she was gone – slamming the door shut behind her. 

**

Then she stopped.

**

Seven minutes later, she was back.

She found him still in the kitchen, still in the same position. 

As if time had stopped.

She sat down again.

“When you bought all these things for me, and for Franny… it made me feel so warm inside,” she began. “So… valued.”

He raised his head and looked at her with incredulity. “ _That_? That is what had an effect on you?” he asked, darkly amused. 

Some despair there, also, in the bottom of the pool.

She shrugged.

“Yes.” Then she decided for the truth. “Quinn, I don’t know how to do this. But I’m trying. I will try. I will try again. I will be better. Please don’t give up on me. Please. Please give me another chance. Please. I beg you. I will be better. Please.” His expression was indescribable – raw, absolute emotion, totally unfiltered – he tried to talk, but couldn’t, so he just nodded, took her hand, and kissed her fingers, once, his lips burning her skin, and then they stayed immobile, united in the darkness, in the kitchen, for the best part of an hour.

 

 

 

(To be continued...)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Ascloseasthis for editing! She does it with efficiency and panache.
> 
> This is just a short update. Sorry, everybody, that this story is taking so long to write. It's been some very busy days at work, but the pace should pick up now. I know where I am going with this, I swear.

“I want to do things right,” Carrie announced on Thursday.

They hadn’t spoken openly about their fight. After that night, Carrie had spent twenty-four hours alone in the apartment, thinking, smoking, drinking coffee. Quinn was gone God knows where and refused to look at her when he came back. 

So she asked him to sit down near her on the couch. 

“I want to do things right,” she repeated. 

She took his hands. Quinn hesitated, then softened slowly at her touch. His eyes met hers, at last. 

“Do what right? Us?”

“Yes. Us, and Franny. What can I do?”

He thought for a moment.

“Showing affection seems to be a given,” he answered. “For Franny, I mean,” he added quickly. “Children are not that difficult, really. If you give them food and love, you’re covered.”

“Oh, really. It’s that simple?”

“Yeah.”

“What are all those parenting books good for then?”

“Making money?”

“Makes sense,” she said, with a small smile, and then asked, in a low voice, “But… why are you not with your kid then?”

She was afraid he would back away, but he didn’t. There was pain in his eyes, and a terrible sincerity, when he explained:

“I’m fucked up. I couldn’t stay.”

Her throat hurt. “I’m fucked up too,” she whispered.

“But you… you want to stay," Quinn breathed. "For... Franny. You do, right?” 

“Yes. I want to stay." She could hardly speak. ”For both of you."

He had no visible reaction, just held her hands tighter. They stayed silent for a long while, before Carrie added:

“It’s not only love and food. I suppose… a child needs tranquility.”

“Can’t hurt. Listen, Carrie, of course you will feel overwhelmed. But I will take over then. That’s the advantage of being two for the job.”

“Franny will hate me. I’m tearing her away from Maggie. From the only mother she has ever known.”

“She won’t hate you,” he said, with a strange emotion in his voice. “She can never hate you. But you will have to be patient. You’ll earn her affection slowly. And then she will love you, and you will be stronger for it.”

There was another silence, then they talked about how to make the transition smoother – keep the same nanny, visit Maggie twice a week, and it was good, discussing parenting methods, in this calm, affectionate way. It was great, even, and at the end they just stayed unmoving, in the same position, fingers interlocked, looking at each other (still not talking about the fact that Carrie had been a witch for two weeks, not talking about how he threw her out, how she begged him to come back).

“See, I told you,” Quinn said, his smile getting bigger. “We’re good at talking about important stuff. At making important decisions, together.”

Carrie nodded, smiling too. Feeling that the future made sense, somehow.

**

Then Franny arrived.

**

It was… not that bad, actually. Maybe Carrie was so terrified that whatever happened, nothing could reach her skyrocketing expectations of failure and rejection. Franny had been, for a year, the symbol of her inadequacies, but now that the little girl was there, in the flesh, she was just – someone – just a baby – who loved being bottle fed and snuggled in your arms to sleep. 

**

Not that it was that easy either. 

Franny cried two nights straight after being separated from Maggie. And yes, Carrie almost turned crazy, she almost caved, believing she was doing the wrong thing, that the change would only hurt her daughter, she desperately fought the impulse to run into the night, give the kid back to her sister, change her name, and disappear forever – but Quinn was there. He called Maggie and put Franny on the phone, so the little girl could hear her aunt’s voice; Maggie promised that she would come visit on the next day, Franny didn’t understand the words but she got the tone, and calmed down (a little). 

Then Quinn and Carrie took turns taking care of her, and despite the exhaustion, the tremendous guilt, there was a moment, on the second night, where Carrie just stopped everything – stopped obsessing, stopped worrying – she was lying in bed, watching Quinn walking back and forth, Franny in his arms, tenderly rocking the little girl, whispering to her – then Franny fell asleep, but Quinn kept walking slowly, and it lasted a few minutes more - Carrie kept looking, feeling close to tears, but in a good way – and then Quinn slipped silently in the bed with her, still holding her daughter, and Carrie thought it was the strangest, more beautiful moment of her life. 

(And of course as soon as Quinn put his head on the pillow Franny woke up and began to cry again.)

**

Day 3, day 4. Franny kept crying, but she caught a few hours of sleep here and there – Quinn and Carrie were walking in a daze, a sort of living coma – Quinn had canceled everything (a last debrief and two psy sessions), Carrie still had to go to the Islamabad hearings (or find herself in jail) but she was so tired, she was hardly listening – she even began to laugh in a senator’s face, for no good reason, and couldn’t stop - you know what really puts political shenanigans into perspective? A crying baby at home. You know how a politician that screams at you suddenly becomes much less scary? When you think, “Guess what, buddy? You can’t keep that up for six hours straight. But my daughter can.”

Children give you perspective.

**

Day 5, day 6. 

Didn’t get much better. No time for sex, no time for talking - they wouldn’t have heard each other anyway. Carrie (or Quinn) went to Maggie once a day with Franny, they gave the kid a cotton scarf with Maggie’s smell, “you have to talk to her”, Quinn explained to Carrie, during another sleepless night, “tell her the truth, with your words. Say that you are her mom and that you missed her, and that you had to lend her to Maggie for a while… but that you love her, and that Maggie loves her too. That she will have two people to love her, instead of one.”

It was a strange thing, this advice from Quinn, Carrie thought – when it came to Franny he was on point, while still unable to talk about himself, or about the situation between them - anyway – despite all this – remember, dear reader, when I said it was not that bad?

It was not, I swear. 

Carrie had NOT gone crazy. She had NOT thought about all of the possible ways to kill her daughter, then herself. She had NOT put Franny on Maggie’s doorstep before taking the next flight to Kazakhstan. Somehow, at some point, during those horrendous days and sleepless nights, she had stopped thinking she couldn’t do it, she had stopped thinking she should just ship back the kid.

She even saw glimpses of… light. She caught shreds of joy. 

When Franny fell asleep in her arms, which happened more and more often. When it was dawn, and Carrie woke up in a fright, but then realized she had no reason to get up, because there was no horrible meeting that day – or that there was one, but in the afternoon – so see, no reason to get up, that can sound bad, but right now it was wonderful.

She was safe and sound in their apartment, diffuse orange light streaming through the window, everyone else asleep in the same bedroom – Franny in her bed, Quinn in theirs.

Carrie listened to their even breathing. She raised her hand and caressed Quinn arm, slowly. 

And yes, she felt joy.


	5. Getting friendly, down in the sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also an answer to Gnomecat prompt: "Summer lovin' (tell me more, tell me more.)"  
> You'll find a lot of gorgeous stories inspired by her beautiful prompt on A03, but also in our Homeland Community, here : 
> 
> http://homelandstuff.livejournal.com/82736.html
> 
> Thank you so much to the beautiful InchByInch for editing this chapter! She did a lot of work and bravely fought all my commas, one by one. :)

It was hot. 

Really hot. It was as Gershwin wrote: “Summer tiiiii-me, and the AC is bro-ken.” It was only off for two days, but two days can feel very long when the temperature is high and there is a baby at home. 

So, now, Dear Reader, you are preparing for descriptions of a screaming Franny and two days of hell and sweat and exasperation, right? 

Not quite what happened.

A lot of sex is what happened. 

**

First day.

Remember last chapter, when I told you about the early morning, when Franny and Quinn were asleep and Carrie slowly caressed his arm? (That was when the heat wave began, but Carrie didn't know yet.) She just felt so serene, surrounded by people she loved, (or who loved her,) in a cocoon of warmth and tenderness. She caressed Quinn’s arm again... 

And realized he had opened his eyes and was staring at her. 

She didn't move – they just looked at each other – Carrie didn’t hide her emotion and he was an open book – love, disbelief, a kind of shyness. A few seconds passed, then he raised himself on his elbows and began to kiss her, slowly, in the silence of dawn – his kiss matching the atmosphere, the laziness (and the love?) in Carrie's eyes. They didn’t make a sound – to avoid waking Franny – then Carrie found herself in his arms. The sex lasted for a long time, slow, silent and tender. Afterward, they just stayed in bed, Carrie’s head on Quinn’s shoulder, wordlessly, (it was getting warm already). Carrie didn't want to spoil the fragile enchantment, Quinn caressed her hair, her cheeks, and she just let him. 

Franny woke up thirty minutes later. The moment was perfect, the feeling was perfect, the timing was perfect.

**

Then the heat wave really struck.

The day was so hot. Apartment complexes all over town lost their ACs at the same time due to overuse, which is why it took so long to fix, but who cares, right? 

Two days of heat, two days of bliss. 

**

It was the weekend. No senator yelling at Carrie. Saul had called a dozen times – he had set up a meeting to talk to Carrie about “their professional future.” Carrie dreaded it – what professional decision could she make, when she was still pondering whether or not to quit the CIA? So when Saul texted her that he had to cancel – he was flying to Geneva – Carrie was intensely relieved.

And she was still in bed, putting her phone back on the nightstand, when she realized something. 

She had two days before her. With nothing to do. In the apartment. With her... lover? Boyfriend? … with Quinn. 

You must realize, Dear Reader, that Carrie had never seen her situation quite this way. Those last weeks, she had never considered the apartment, or Quinn, to be an important facet of her life. She wasn’t really… intellectually conscious that she had a private life, one that needed nurturing, or one that could be enjoyed. The apartment and Quinn were just *there*, a place to sleep, a man to lean on, while she was taking care of more important things: the hearings, Franny, the remains of her career. But suddenly, it hit her, in the best way possible. 

She had a private life. And a guy in it. 

Like... anybody. Like… other people. Like she was normal. 

Normal love, normal life.

**

The guy came back in the room with two mugs of coffee and a frown. 

“The fucking AC is broken,” he explained. He put the mugs on the nightstand and sat on the bed, near Carrie, ranting about the setbacks of technology and the general incompetence of professionals – Carrie was not listening, she was just looking at him.

“You’re my guy,” she stated aloud, with a small smile. “And you’re hot.” 

Quinn stared at her, confused. Carrie’s smile wavered, she was worried for a fleeting second that Quinn wouldn’t get the joke – that he would object to the whole possessive attitude – but he didn’t. 

“I am,” he confirmed, before answering her smile. “What brought about that staggering realization?”

“The heat, I guess. And the prospect of two days alone, in this place. With you. And a lot of time to kill.”

“Oh,” Quinn said slowly. “Ok. I like that line of thinking.”

Of course Franny began to coo happily to remind them that they weren’t, in fact, alone. Quinn took her from her crib, in the corner, (they were all sleeping in the same room now,) and brought her to rest on their bed with her toys, within the safe-zone created between the two adults. 

The little girl was all smiles. 

“Maybe she’s all cried out?” Carrie whispered to Quinn, who answered in the same tone: “Babies never are. But I think you made it.” 

Carrie raised her head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… that’s it. She’s gotten used to you. She’s adopted you.” 

He was rewarded by a bright smile and Franny kept playing. It was getting hotter, but the heat created a pleasant, lethargic, time-free atmosphere. Carrie took Quinn’s hand with a negligent gesture, her eyes still on her daughter. Quinn languidly played with Carrie’s fingers, his eyes on Franny too, and then he added, still whispering: “A ‘hot guy,’ hum? I would have gone for ‘very hot’.”

“Fine. A very hot guy, a heat wave, and two days to kill.”

“How the hell are we going to spend the time?”

Franny was playing with a sphere that had noisy marbles inside it, and she wanted cooperation from the adults so they gave her their attention for a while.

“You think she really is used to me now?” Carrie asked, a few minutes later.

“It’s not a switch that gets flipped. But I think she’s getting there, yes.”

Moments passed.

“Back to our future… activities,” Carrie added, in a murmur. She nodded in Franny’s direction. “We can’t make any noise.”

“I can be silent,” Quinn said, then threw her a provocative smile. “Can you?”

Carrie pretended to be shocked by the insinuation, before whispering: “I will be silent. But you could try your best to make me otherwise.”

“Are you sleepy yet, little Franny?” Quinn asked, a glint in his eyes. “You want to go to bed? I think you want to go to bed.”

But Franny had no intention of sleeping at all. She was talking to herself in some mysterious language and was hyper-focused on her toys, so Quinn began to list in a very, very low voice all the things he was planning to try in order to make Carrie break her resolution, while Carrie did her best to keep a straight face, and damn, the temperature kept rising – but still Franny wouldn’t sleep.

“Well, you know what?” Carrie sighed, after an hour. “I think we’re really imposing on Franny. I mean, just because she doesn’t want to sleep doesn’t mean that she doesn’t want to relax. Alone. In her crib.”

“True. I bet she’s tired of us now.”

“Time alone fosters creativity in children,” Carrie added.

“Is that in the parenting books?”

“It should be,” Carrie countered. She scooped up Franny along with her toys and put her daughter safely into the crib. 

Five seconds later Carrie and Quinn were in the bathroom with two closed doors between them and the child. Carrie was not really silent – Quinn didn’t complain – and afterward they got in the shower together and let’s just say things were not chaste there either. When they returned to the bedroom (yes, wearing bathrobes, Dear Reader) Franny was asleep at last. Carrie and Quinn were fresh from the shower, in that state of mind where the skin of the other is irresistible, so they went to the other bedroom and just kissed and played on the bed, so that soon enough things got heated again and in the aftermath they just lay there, all sweaty.

**

In the afternoon, the day got HOT. Not metaphorically. The temperature was just stifling.

And perfect.

Franny kept falling asleep – because of the heat. (Yes, Dear Parents, they kept her regularly hydrated.) (Yes, don’t lie, I know you thought about it.) 

After a thorough analysis of the situation, Quinn and Carrie decided to spend the day entirely naked. It was too hot to wear clothes. They did put some on when they interacted with Franny – but otherwise they spent those hours taking showers, drinking lots of water and… touching each other, sexually, but not only. Being naked all day created a peculiar intimacy – they were discovering each other, their bodies, really taking time – like a honeymoon. Carrie thought the weekend was like those days, weeks, months of infatuation when a couple first gets together – when you’re drunk with each other and everything is beautiful, light and passionate – except that hadn’t happened with them. When they first got together things were, from the start, harsh, complicated and tragic – but right now… being naked near the microwave… those passionate, carefree moments seemed to be theirs at last – like when (naked) Carrie backed (naked) Quinn against the kitchen wall and then she began to examine his body slowly, all the skin, all the scars, kissing gently one by one every part after inspection. She gradually worked her way down, he was getting incredibly aroused, but again the game was not only sexual – he was looking at her, his eyes bright and true, his heart beating so fast – and when her task was accomplished it was his turn to back her against the wall and he did the same thing to her, except _that_ got sexual right away, and Carrie broke her vow of silence again, even though she tried to keep it down and her muffled moans drove him even crazier, if possible.

Night came – it got cooler. Franny woke up and stayed awake this time. But that was fine. The night was lazy and a blur, they lay together in bed wearing t-shirts and loose shorts, Franny playing between them in the safe space. 

They were dozing on and off, taking turns watching her. 

Finally, around dawn, Franny fell sound asleep, and they slept too, at last.

**

Second day.

Carrie didn’t have nightmares, she didn’t wake up with her mind completely blank, not knowing why. She didn’t open her eyes in terror with the image of her dead daughter, beaten to death, lingering in her brain.

**

They woke around eleven – at some point, Quinn had put Franny back in her crib. 

The heat was creating a comfortable fog around them. Quinn turned to Carrie and kissed her naked shoulder before whispering, “You were so bad at the game yesterday. I don’t think you kept silent even once.”

“Oh, I can do it,” Carrie breathed. “I wasn’t really trying. Franny was on the other side of the apartment.”

“She could hear now.” They looked at each other.

Carrie slowly got up and Quinn followed her in the hallway. Carrie closed the door behind them as a precaution and they kissed, right there. He backed her up against the wall again and not a word, not a sound, was exchanged for the next few minutes, they just looked at each other, never shifting their gaze or shutting their eyes, even during the act. 

Carrie had been perfectly quiet, and for the next few hours everything was… softer. 

They were all sexed out so they just rested. The heat seemed to make them soft, mentally and physically. 

Carrie was floating. She was too hot to think, to doubt, to obsess. 

**

The heat cancelled the past, erased the future, wiped out uncertainties and doubts. Carrie felt caught in an eternal present] where there was nobody but Quinn and Franny – no other activity to do but to love them, to take care of them, to be there for them, and the spell lasted for hours, forever, for an eternity.

**

Then the AC came back.

 

 

(To be continued!)


End file.
